Search the Community

This story has been a scene I've had in my head for a long time. My plan is to make this a series. I hope you all like it. Comments and suggestions are appreciated. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Dorm Alpha: Part 1 Alex’s eyes snapped open, it was dark in the dorm room except for the light from his digital clock on the bedside table showing 3am. Something was tickling his chest. He looked down but his view was obscured by two giant rock-solid mounds of hair and muscle. The sensation continued, tingles shot from his nipple down his torso. Alex sat upward, the two side-by-side twin mattresses he slept on creaked as he adjusted his bulk. As he sat up, he found the “something” tickling his nipple was his puny roommate Peter, suckling desperately on his muscle tit. Alex pushed him off roughly and he fell to the floor. “Fuck off Pete!” Alex hissed. Peter sat on the floor jerking his cock, staring up at his gargantuan roommate. Eyes wild with lust. Alex looked to the other side of the dorm where a pile of several other college boys slept soundly on the floor. He’d long ago claimed the second bed for himself. He smiled as flashes of the previous evening’s fuckfest and worship session replayed through his mind. Suddenly, Alex realized he needed to take a piss. He got up, as he did so he roughly pushed past Pete still jerking his dick. Then he ducked to exit the dorm room and went down the hall and into the bathroom butt-naked. Alex sidled up next to a urinal, lifted his python and let loose a torrent of hot piss. Relieved, Alex walked to the sink and took a look at himself in the mirror. “Fuck” he blurted out. Then a shit-eating grin spread across his face. Even he was still blown away by the body before him. Nearly 7 feet tall, 350 lbs, ripped to shreds and covered from the chest down in thick, dark hair. Alex was a sight to behold. He lifted his arms above his head, smashing his biceps into his ears as he did so, relishing in his obscene size and muscularity. Alex sucked in his stomach and crunched down his abs. Eight enormous, deeply etched bricks framed with sharp obliques like fingers accentuated an almost comically tight waist. He held this position, flexing hard and watching thick gnarled veins surface across his torso, clearly visible even through the thick layer of body hair. Alex then slowly and gracefully lowered his arms into a double biceps pose, flaring his lats out wider and wider, making him look like a fuckin Dorito. Shoulders the size of watermelons literally burst from his body. Each head of muscle, etched deep and thick, even without a pump. As Alex’s eyes swept across the mirror, drinking in his gargantuan frame, his cock, which had been resting heavily on the bathroom counter began to fill with blood. Alex’s eyes, which had been focused on his meaty-as-all-fuck traps looked down at his cock as it lengthened along the bathroom counter approaching the sink faucet. Seventeen, eighteen inches perhaps? At some point he had just stopped measuring. It’s grown every day since he started college. Since he started eating and lifting like a beast. Alex smirked as his cock finally reached its final length, four inches from the backsplash. “Guess I have a new goal” he thought to himself. Just then, he heard the sound of a toilet flushing and the door to the stall behind him opened up. Without ever turning around, or indeed, dropping his double bicep pose, Alex called to the little runt exiting the stall. “Hey Brett-y. Wanna feel some muscle?” The kid froze like a deer in headlights. Brett lived at the other end of the hall. Quiet guy, kept to himself. Probably didn't weigh more than 150 lbs wet. Alex dropped his arms. Letting them relax against his sides. His lats pushed his arms out to 45 degrees. “Come here Brett-y, don’t be shy. I want you to feel my glutes. I’ve really been focusing on them lately.” Alex flexed his glute muscles with perfect control making the feathered muscles twitch up and down. Brett inched up to Alex, trembling head to foot. His head only reaching the small of Alex’s back. All the while Alex had remained facing the mirror, staring at himself. His body was so large that as Brett stepped closer he was entirely obscured by muscle. Because of Alex's height, Brett had to put his hands out at eye level to touch his ass. He squeaked when his hands felt the hot, hard as iron muscle in front of him. The smell was overwhelming, intoxicating. It made Brett's head spin and very quickly he began cleaning Alex's ass with his tongue. Drinking it in. The feeling of Brett’s tongue probing his ass cheeks caused Alex's giant member to stiffen even more if possible. He brought his left arm back up high and began to worship his own bicep. Alex flexed hard, the bulging ball of muscle pumped bigger and bigger. Alex watched himself in the mirror as his thick powerful tongue licked the titanic bicep tracing the powerful veins on his left arm. Alex grabbed hold of his monstrous cock with the other arm, all the while Brett's tongue probed deeper and deeper. Alex pressed his huge, beefy, calloused hand on top of his dick, pinning it down to the sink counter. He then began grinding his monstrous cock back and forth, relishing in how his hands, huge as they were, looked tiny in comparison to his giant dick. “Deeper Brett. Really get in there” Alex growled. Brett could only moan with pleasure at being surrounded by so much hot muscle. He pushed his head in deeper and Alex relaxed his glutes allowing Brett access to his hole. Alex could have crushed Brett’s skull with a single flex and he knew it. It would be all too easy to snuff out his life. Alex puffed out his chest. The slabs of meat pushed outward, the thick hair on his pecs tickled Alex’s chin. He was a fuckin stud, the ultimate alpha. No one past, present or future who ever lived in this dorm would ever approach his level of superiority and he was only 19. Had only started growing a year ago. He never stopped thinking about growth. Food, Muscle, and Sex was all he ever thought about. With that he let go of his monstrous dick. His cock swung upwards like a baseball bat smashing into his enormous pec cleavage. Alex flexed his pecs along his dick, the hair and muscle stimulating the red-hot iron rod. With Brett’s tongue still stimulating his hole, Alex raised his arms up one last time, flexing every part of his body, expanding in every direction. It was too much. The muscle drove him mad and cock convulsed firing thick college boy spunk onto the ceiling. Alex grabbed his cock, still spewing jizz and aimed it at the bathroom sink. He watched enthralled as his mammoth alpha cock filled the sink nearly halfway up with cum. So thick it didn't drain down. “Fuck Brett, look at that” Alex said. “I'm such a fucking stud! That's more cum than the whole football team jizzes in a month I bet!.... Brett?” Brett was on the floor, dazed from his own epic orgasm being surrounded by Alex's beefy hairy glutes. Alex scooped up Brett like a ragdoll and carried him out to the common area where he deposited him on the couch. Alex went back to his room, opened the door, ducked and went inside. Puney Pete was still sitting on the floor leaning against Alex's bed snoring loudly, hand still on his dick. As Alex got into bed he purposely slapped Pete's face with his weighty flaccid dick. Alex chuckled to himself. Just a few hours till breakfast he thought. With that, the Alex drifted off to sleep. He had a big day tomorrow. In fact, everyday was big and getting bigger.

Synopsis: An un-named narrator gives the firsthand account of his friend's growth from twig to big, over a span of one year. He wrote it down so it might serve as inspiration to skinny guys everywhere, looking to grow huge. January My roommate, Thomas, and I moved into our new apartment on January 1st. We had known each other since freshmen year of college and hit it off from the start, becoming close friends. After college we each moved back in with our respective families for a few years. When I was ready for independence from my parents, I suggested that he and I get a place together and he agreed. The apartment was spacious, over 1600 square feet with a big kitchen and living room, two bedrooms, and lots of storage space. It covered the whole second floor of a three-story house on a quiet suburban street. At $1900 a month, it wasn’t cheap, but we could manage it. Thomas and I shared a similar personality and tastes. We were both quiet liberals, who like superhero movies and reading good books. Physically, however, we were very different. I was white. He was of Indian descent, with skin the color of caramel. At 6 foot 4, I towered over his 5’ 7’’ frame. While I was no bodybuilder, I kept my body fit with calisthenics and was a solid 195 pounds. Thomas was a rail thin 120. He ate poorly and seldom worked out beyond the occasional pushups and sit-ups. He didn’t look sickly or anorexic, just plain skinny. I was a lot stronger than him. When moving furniture into the place I was able to lift things, he could hardly budge: dressers, desks, hutches. If something required both of us, like a sofa, I would see him struggling at his end while I would hardly break a sweat. “Damn, what’s it feel like to walk around with that kind of strength,” he asked once. I laughed. “I’m not really that strong.” He looked at my physique, my sweaty shirt clinging to the modest muscle I had. “Well compared to me…” I tapped him on the back. “Compared to you, I’m the hulk!” I grabbed him playfully, putting one hand under his armpit and the other on his leg and began pressing him over my head. He was so light. “Woah, dude! Put me down!” He sounded a little annoyed. “Sorry, are you scared of heights?” I laughed. He smiled and shook his head. “Let’s finish moving this stuff Hercules,” Thomas said. Later that month I visited a tag sale and came away with a bunch of workout equipment: adjustable dumbbells that could go up to 80 pounds, resistance bands, a weight bench, and some chains. The lady running the sale gave me a great deal. $75 for the whole lot. I was ecstatic. Combined with the pullup bar and few weights I already had, it made a nice little home gym. It was perfect for me, since I never liked going to gyms. I put all the stuff in the living room and told Thomas he was free to use it whenever he liked. “Thanks, but I’m good,” he said, dismissive. One day I saw him attempt to lift one of the heavier weights. He yanked at it, getting it a couple of inches off the ground, before letting it drop back down. “Maybe you should start with the light ones,” I said. “Don’t want to strain yourself.” He looked up, startled, obviously not knowing I had been watching. “Oh, no. I wasn’t working out,” he said. “I was just curious how heavy they were. You use those for your chest?” “Nah, those are 50s. I can curl those,” I said. “I do chest presses with the 80s.” He nodded. “Cool.” Later that evening we were watching a movie. In one scene, a pair of muscular men were arm wrestling. Their thick, meaty biceps were bursting out of their sleeves. Thomas was wearing a sleeveless shirt, as he only did around the apartment (he would never dare display his spindly arms in public). I glanced over at him from time to time. He was looking at his arms and subtly flexing them on an off as if he were comparing them to the arms of the men on screen. “What do you think I’d look like with muscles like that?” He said, suddenly, while pointing toward the screen. “Well, personally I think all men look better with a little muscle on them, but as far as you building muscle like those guys, I don’t think you have the frame for it.” He was silent for a moment, them blurted out, “I’m tired of being a twig.” I was happy to hear him say that. I had often fantasized about what he would look like with a better physique and liked what my mind’s eye came up with. “Start eating more and lifting weights,” I said. “I think I will.” He looked down at his skinny arms again and flexed. I pulled my sleeve up, held my arm next to his and flexed. It was twice as wide as his and far more defined. “Maybe before the year is over, you’ll have guns like these.” I slapped my bicep and we shared a smile. February Thomas started using my weights. He lifted the lightest ones I owned, the 20s and 25s, doing mostly curls, shoulder presses, lunges, and flies. His lifted six days a week, before or after work, but his workouts weren’t very organized or structured. I had designated days for each body part, making sure to hit each twice a week, with two rest days. I also made sure I was progressing in weight or rep count. Thomas, however, didn’t seem to have a plan. He just did a few reps of this exercise and a few reps of that exercise, hoping results would come like magic. “You gotta push yourself,” I told him. “Workout to failure. Track what you’re doing and each week, go for a little more.” “I thought I was pushing myself.” “Your workouts are consistent, I’ll admit. Six days a week, never missing one. Impressive for someone who never worked out before,” I said, with a supportive tone, “but I think you’d see more progress if you worked out less often, but really killed it, to point where you’re sore the next day.” “I was working up to that.” “Sure, you were.” I patted him on the back, and laughed. “I’m serious. I just didn’t want to jump into it and go overboard,” Thomas said. “Do you want to get bigger?” “Yes.” “Then no excuse.” I walked him over to the weights. “Pick up those 25s. That’s what you’ve been using.” Thomas lifted the weights and held them at his side. He looked at me, wondering what was next. “Curl ‘em.” He did so. “Stop. It doesn’t look too difficult for you.” “They’re heavy,” he said. “But not heavy enough.” I put 35 pounds on the adjustable weights. “Here curl these.” Thomas lifted them up with a grunt. He pumped them up and down and I could tell he was working harder. His body was more tense. His face more strained. “Perfect!” I said. “These are really heavy.” “Exactly.” I looked down at him with a smile. “From now on the 20s and 25s are your warmup weights. I want you to add 5 to 10 pounds to all your lifts starting now.” “Wait a minute.” Thomas put the weights down. “I’m supposed to be warming up?” I face palmed. “Well, maybe not with these fly weight you were using, but once you start going heavier, I would definitely start warming up to avoid injury.” He nodded. “And let’s talk about your diet.” “What’s wrong with my diet?” He asked, “I’ve been eating more.” “That’s not saying much dude. I have a cousin in the second grade that eats more than you. Adding an extra bowl of Fruit Loops, or two extra donuts to your day isn’t going to cut it. Muscle is made of protein. You like chicken and beef, so eat more of that. You see what I eat.” “Yeah, well you’ve got 70 pounds on me.” “Thomas, Thomas, Thomas!” I slung an arm over his shoulder. “You’re not eating for the size you are, my friend. You’re eating for the size you want to be. A philosopher once said, ‘Eat big to get big.’” “And which philosopher was that?” Thomas smiled. “Swolistotle.” We shared a laugh. Thomas took my advice and one day he came home from the grocery store with bags of frozen chicken tenders, chicken nuggets, and meatballs. I would have preferred to see raw, whole foods but he didn’t know how to cook, so I understood why he got the ready-made stuff. He also ordered a 12-pound bag of chocolate mass gainer off of Amazon. During the last week of the month his workouts were intense. He pushed himself harder than he had all month, grunting like a beast, lifting as heavy as he could. His workouts were long, and he’d walk away from them soaked in sweat. The eating was a different story. He’d fill a plate with food and struggle to finish it, often letting the half-eaten plate sit in the refrigerator until the next day. “Just keep pushing yourself,” I said. “Eventually your stomach will stretch out.” “I don’t know man. I’ve never eaten this much fucking food in my life. It’s harder than the lifting.” I suggested he watch eating challenge videos on YouTube for inspiration. I also suggested the names of several fitness Youtubers I found knowledgeable and entertaining. He said he’d check them out. At the end of the month, he weighed himself on our bathroom scale and found that he had gained 2 pounds, now weighing 122. I knew it was probably just ‘water’ weight from the increased eating he had done in the last week, but he was so happy about it, I didn’t say anything to burst his bubble. I simply congratulated him. It was a start and I saw good things coming for him in March. March Thomas became obsessed with fitness youtubers, studying their habits and absorbing as much of their knowledge as possible. He read article after article on muscle growth, supplementation, diet, and weightlifting. It became his goal to find the most efficient techniques to build muscle and it looked like it was working. I saw him flexing shirtless in front of the large mirror in our living room. He was beginning to get quite toned. His meals increased each week. A bag of chicken that would have lasted him 2 weeks before, was now gone in 4 days. “How much protein are you getting?” I asked him one day in mid-March. “200 grams.” That was more than me. I was impressed watching him force down meal after meal, even when I could tell he didn’t want to. After a huge dinner, twice as big as any meal he would have eaten months ago, I would find him recline on the couch with a hand on his distended abdomen looking uncomfortable. And still, an hour later, I’d find him in the kitchen making a massive protein shake and chugging it down, determined to get more calories and protein in him. Determined to grow! He had taken my advice about working out hard and pushed himself 5 days a week, doing as many sets, with as much weight as he could lift. His shirts and sweatpants would be soaked through with sweat, clinging to his lean frame. His little muscles would be pumped to the max and aching. He said he kind of like the pain, however. It made him feel like he was doing something. Tearing down his muscle fibers, so he could build them back up bigger and stronger with all the food he was eating. By the end of the month, he was up an impressive 6 pounds. Now 128. “The newbie gains are starting to kick in now man,” I said. “Keep it up.” “Oh, I plan to.” He did a double bicep pose. “I’m hooked.” On the 31st he received a large box in the mail. He bought it into the kitchen and began emptying it on the counter. I watched in shock as he pulled out bottle after bottle and bag after bag of what must have been $350 in supplements. Creatine; BCAAs; Citrulline malate; nitric oxide; casein; Glutamine; and more. He turned to me and grinned. “I’m going for 8 pounds next month.”